


Bright Objects

by Dryad



Category: Lewis (TV), The X-Files
Genre: AU, Casefile-y, Crossover, DAL - Freeform, Mytharc-y, NC17, Other, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from the shadows, where softly steps the light</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright Objects

**Author's Note:**

> Please reacquaint yourself with my [ratings](http://xfdryad.livejournal.com/13234.html)...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every murder turns on a bright hot light.  
~ Albert Maltz  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**~*~  
** Thursday, 4:44 PM  
~*~ 

None of it made sense. Lewis stood next to Hathaway's desk, arms folded, staring blindly out into the bullpen. Laura had yet to complete her initial findings, but the crime scene had been brutal. The victims had clearly suffered. 

It made him very angry.

"Sir, Innocent wants us," said Hathaway, leaning in through the open door.

Lewis nodded absently, took the time to roll down his sleeves and button them before slipping into his jacket. He got an unpleasant surprise when they walked into Innocent's office; Chief Constable Alan Barnard, seated in front of Innocent's desk, and another man, a stranger.

"Ah, Lewis," Barnard put down his half-empty cup of tea and stood up. He gestured towards the other man. "This is Special Agent Mulder with the American Federal Bureau of Investigation. Agent Mulder is speaking at the Profiling Symposium at St. Mark's and I've asked him to consult with you on this Beaumont College business. This has international consequences if we don't find the perpetrators, and fast. Jean, I want you to accord Agent Mulder every courtesy, anything he needs he is to get."

"Of course, sir," added Innocent, her voice more clipped than usual, clearly royally pissed off. "Agent Mulder, this is Detective Inspector Lewis and Sergeant Hathaway."

The American - tall, dark-haired, well-tailored charcoal suit - turned and held out his hand. "Inspector Lewis, Sergeant Hathaway."

Lewis shook the man's hand - dry, a bit calloused, not too firm, not too desultory. He didn't have to glance at Hathaway as Mulder shook his hand, too, to sense both his irritation and surprise. He never knew when it was going to happen, but Hathaway could be a little territorial at times.

"Well, I'll leave you and your team to get on with it," said Barnard. "Jean, I'll see you tonight?"

She nodded. "Eight pm."

"Good. Gentlemen," Barnard glanced at each of them in turn before leaving the office.

Innocent returned to her desk and began shuffling papers. "Is there something else?"

"No, ma'am," Lewis answered. After a pause to see if she was wanted him to stay behind, he turned and followed Hathaway and Agent Mulder out the door.

Once in their office Lewis firmly closed the door behind himself, watched Hathaway fold his arms and rest against his desk. Not inclined to be helpful, then. "Well, Agent Mulder, what can we help you with."

"Call me Mulder, to start," answered the American. "I'm not here to step on any toes, Inspector. Despite what your Chief Constable said, you're the one running this case. Scully's already with the pathologist."

"Scully?" asked Lewis, sitting in his chair and leafing through the top folder of the stack. He was relieved to hear Mulder's statement of intent. Not that he feared losing control of the operation, it was just that at this point in his career he was used to running things, making the decisions.

"My partner," Mulder said. He motioned at the whiteboard near Hathaway. "What have you got so far?"

Hathaway stood and began pointing out who was involved. "William Rademacher, 51, Chemist. By which I mean actual chemistry, not pharmacology."

Lewis twitched his head to one side, knowing Hathaway would catch exactly what he meant. Let's not piss them off before we even start to begin, man.

"Anson Neville, 69, Epidimiologist. Nicholas Gascoigne, 49, Civil Engineer. Gregory MacDonald, 32, son of the shipping magnate Iain MacDonald. Finally we have Claire Fortey, 41, Nursing, with a Masters in Geography. All were murdered in lab 404 of the science block at Beaumont College."

"Why were they there?"

"We don't know."

Mulder blinked. "How do you mean?"

Hathaway said, "We have no idea why they were there."

"Did they know one another?"

Lewis shrugged and added, "Not as far as we know. They attended different universities in different countries, from Sherbrooke in North America to Trinity in Dublin. The outlier's Claire Fortey, who had graduated from Stirling University, worked for McCutcheon-Davies for 11 years before leaving to work in a candy factory in Nice. William Rademacher was the only graduate from this college."

Hathaway said, "The building was locked, as were all the individual labs including 404. The bodies were discovered this morning by Alanna Copley, a student who had keys for her own lab work."

"Okay," murmured Mulder. "Okay, check to see if there have been any international conferences in the area in the last month. We're looking for medical, environmental, computer tech, that sort of thing"

Hathaway glanced at Lewis, who quirked an eyebrow. "Why? I mean that's an awfully random assortment of topics."

Mulder motioned towards the whiteboard again. "The lack of connection is something we've seen before."

Lewis was distracted by a double knock on the door. Laura swept in, frowning unhappily as a petite, red headed woman wearing a discrete and very expensive black suit followed her. She was pretty but she needed a smidgeon less makeup, the color was off along her jaw.

"Scully, what've we got?" asked Mulder.

Lewis silently appreciated the dirty look she sent her partner; he'd given Hathaway the same during some of his Sergeant's ruder moments. He nodded in her direction, said, "Agent Scully."

Laura leaned close to Scully and stage-whispered, "Inspector Lewis. Lurking in the corner is Sergeant Hathaway."

"Laura, do we have any information so far?" asked Lewis.

Laura put her hands in her jacket pockets. "Chemical analysis is still pending, but they were clearly tortured before death."

"Drugged?" asked Hathaway.

"Probably, but we don't know for sure. We don't even know if there was more than one attacker."

"They were poisoned, actually," said Scully, stepping to the whiteboard. She looked over the victim and crime scene photographs, then glanced at Mulder. "We've seen this before, in Kansas City."

Mulder blinked, then said, "Angie Ramirez."

Scully turned towards Lewis and said, "Have you ever eaten fugu, Inspector Lewis?"

"Sounds like something I'd scrape off the bottom of me shoe, " he answered.

"I have," said Hathaway. He sat on his desk and refolded his arms. "A variety of puffer fish, fugu is served as sashimi by specially trained chefs."

"I take it it's poisonous?" asked Lewis, wondering why the hell anyone would poison themselves for pleasure. Then again he'd seen plenty of strange things over the years., from women stabbing themselves to death to jealous siblings murdering their own nieces and nephews.

"Deadly," answered Scully. "Tetrodotoxin can be found in several varieties of fish, the Blue-Ringed Octopus, and some bacteria, including Vibrio alginolyticus. The toxin interrupts signals from nerves to muscles, leading to paralysis and death. "

Bewildered and horrified, Lewis stared at Hathaway. "You actually ate this?"

Hathaway shrugged, looking a little pleased with himself at the same time. "It's considered a delicacy. I was never in any danger. Besides, these days there is treatment. Of sorts."

Lewis was not reassured. "Did our victims eat this...fugu?"

Scully shook her head. "No traces were found in their stomach contents, but ingestion is the easiest and most potent form of delivery. I suspect they drank their poison, but we won't know for sure until the blood analysis is completed. "

"Gastrointestinal distress and vomiting was acute," said Laura. "Evidence was, ah, available in the toilets."

"And that's why I never went into Pathology," said Mulder with a grimace. "But why tetrodotoxin? Angie Ramirez killed her first victim by mistake, the rest with intent. She fed them massive amounts, they all died within an hour. Do we have a time for these five?"

"Sometime between midnight and five am," said Laura, Scully nodding in agreement.

Hathaway shook his head in disbelief. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Yes," said Scully. "They died horrifically and in great pain."

Judging by their mutual expressions of disbelief, Lewis knew he had missed something important. "What?"

"They felt it all, Robbie," said Laura. "Tetrodotoxin paralyses only the muscles, not the brain. A person poisoned remains aware of everything going on around them until shortly before death."

"Jesus," he breathed. "So...they're poisoned at some point during the evening. Can we assume they're poisoned at the same time, in the lab?"

"Probably," said Mulder.

"So they're in the lab, they drink something jointly, tea or water, something you'd drink for or in a social occasion. Someone has adulterated the liquid, someone who knows not to drink. While they're incapacitated, our killer or killers tortures them for an unknown reason."

Mulder's face was grim. "Welcome to our world."

"Actually, we may have a lead on the 'who'," murmured Scully, folding her arms and brushing one foot along the carpet. 

 

**~*~  
** Thursday, 1:53 PM  
~*~ 

Scully stripped her gloves off, stepped on the HAZARDOUS MATERIALS bin pedal to lift the lid, dropped the gloves inside. Plastic booties and blue footie suit followed, along with the clear facemask. She unsnapped the barrette she had borrowed from one of the dieners, his daughter's slide, he'd said of the sparkly, pale pink hair clip, and scrubbed her scalp, ran her fingers through her hair.

She was so tired. Mulder might be in his element, but she was bone-weary, and not just from the flight. The nagging problem of Diana was not going to go away no matter how much she wished it would. For all of their issues, for everything they had been through, she had never imagined a woman would be the one to take him away from her. Death, yes, or disappearance, but never a woman whose deeds, whose duplicity was so clear. How could he not see it?

She simply didn't understand.

Scully took a deep breath to calm herself down. There was no point rehashing how she felt, yet she couldn't seem to stop. It was the betrayal she couldn't get over, and not just by him. That the Gunmen had supported Mulder had not been a mild surprise, their pity for her devastating. 

And here she was again, thinking in circles and standing motionless in bra and underwear, thoroughly chilled and thinking of Mulder. Disappointed in herself even more, she opened the locker she had taken for her own and got dressed. Dr. Hobson wasn't yet in her office, so Scully took the opportunity to scan her desk, and then her foolishly unsecured email. Nothing untoward there. Not that Scully thought Dr. Hobson was necessarily up to nefarious misdeeds, but after years on the X Files she expected unpleasant surprises at every turn.

Which was why, when she opened the door to leave, she was less shocked than perhaps she should have been to find Alex Krycek looking the other way, reaching for the handle at the same time.

He turned. 

Their eyes met and then it was a mad scramble happening in slow motion. Even as she reached for her weapon he was drawing one arm back, and with despair she remembered her gun was at home, watching his fingers clench into a fist and then she was on her back on the floor, blinking away spots of bright white light and reeling from the pain pulsing in her jaw.

Dizzy and sick to her stomach, she made it to hands and knees and then, with the aid of a nearby chair, to her feet. She staggered into the hallway, looked left, looked right: he was gone.

 

**~*~  
** Thursday. 7:10 PM  
~*~ 

"Who?"

"Professor Sian Powell, Professor Edward Goodacre?"

Lewis shook his head. "Sorry, I'm not familiar with either one of them."

Mulder nodded. "No reason you should be."

After eating one more chip, Lewis pushed his plate away. He took a sip of lager. He had brought them to the Archibald Simpson because nobody wanted to go to a proper restaurant. The Simpson was popular, with a good menu and a wide  
variety of drink. But the atmosphere was not his favorite, the lighting too bright, the music too brash, the clientele too managerial. The kind of place Morse would have detested. "Did you like it?"

Mulder pondered, then said, "I had my fair share of ups and downs, but I don't regret anything. Or anyone. Mostly."

"Sounds like a tale in the making," said Lewis.

"Phoebe was an interesting woman."

Scully's raised eyebrows led Lewis to believe that the aforementioned Phoebe was 'interesting' in the same way as the Chinese curse. 

"She works in Diplomatic Services, or at least she did, the last time we spoke," said Mulder, mashing peas with his knife. "What's wrong with serving peas without mint? Can we not have a mint-free pea just once in this country? It's like a national obsession."

"I was offered a place in Diplomatic Services," said Hathaway. He finished his beer, started playing with his pack of cigarettes. "Then I came to my senses and hit the mean streets of Oxford instead."

Mulder nodded, poked the air with the knife. "Too much rarified air in the higher elevations."

"Too thin or too rich, wreaks havoc with your mind."

"One sees more devils than vast hell can hold."

Hathaway immediately brightened, and Lewis held in his sigh of long-suffering. The lad never really got much of a chance to spar with him. Might as well let him enjoy it while it lasted.

"'Very magical mirth, the true beginning of our end.'"

Mulder wrinkled his nose. "Um, right, right, 'the best in this kind are but shadows'."

Next to him, Scully put her napkin on the table. "That's my cue."

Mulder quirked a smile. "'How poor are they that have not patience!' Come on, Scully, we never get to play Shakespeare outside the office."

"'The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose'," she answered primly.

Mulder held up his hands in mock surrender. "Yes ma'am."

Lewis just shook his head. What were the odds? Even Hathaway was visibly amused, and that was no mean feat. 

Scully took a sip of water, then looked him straight in the eye. "We should tell you what to expect."

 

**~*~  
** Friday, 8:03 AM  
~ *~ 

Lewis glanced at him, then motioned towards a convenient lay-by.

Hathaway shut the engine off and waited.

"What do you think?" asked Lewis.

Hathaway rested his elbow on the car's windowsill, rubbed his lower lip briefly. "I don't know. Did you see the bruise on her jaw?"

Lewis nodded. "Well-covered by makeup, but there nonetheless. The question is, are they paranoid for good reason or just paranoid?"

"I spoke to Fiona last night. Don't even go there, sir," Hathaway eyed Lewis sidelong. "You and your matchmaking ways are over."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"According to her, Mulder and Scully investigate unusual phenomena. She said their solve rate is high, but they're known for being unorthodox and not playing nicely with others."

"Do you feel privileged? I certainly do."

With a snort at the snark, Hathaway continued. "Apparently there's a lot of classified information which she couldn't get access to, despite her..."

"Hathaway? What?" asked Lewis, turning to look behind the car.

Hathaway couldn't have described why he turned the car back on, why he shifted into gear, or what prompted him to peel back onto the road with the tires screaming. Maybe it was the expression on the face of the driver of the car oncoming, or the speed with which he took the corner - it wasn't right.

Lewis bit off an expletive and grabbed for the dashboard as the car fishtailed back onto the macadam.

There were a few houses up the road and Hathaway quickly drove into the first open, empty garage he saw. He braked hard, the car rocking back and forth and bumping into the cinder blocks making up the back wall of the garage. As one, the two of them ducked down, Hathaway angling the rear-view mirror to see the street. A minute later they watched the other car drive by at a moderate pace, the driver looking from side to side. 

They looked at each other, then sat up. 

Lewis pulled his phone from his pocket. "I guess that answers the paranoia question."

 

**~*~  
** Thursday, 12:15 PM  
~*~ 

Laura Hobson grunted, bootied feet slipping on the floor ever so slightly as she pushed on Charles Grant with all of her strength. She slipped suddenly but managed to catch herself before face-planting on the edge of the exam table. Yes, she was really beginning to dislike Mr. Grant. Though she hated the mucky mucks who decided the floors needed polishing every month more. Seriously, it wasn't as like there was going to be some on the spot inspection of the lino. No closing the department because it wasn't shiny enough.

She decided to try a different technique. Walking around the table, she took hold of him by opposite elbow and shoulder and pulled hard while trying to peer at his shoulder blade. The position was...problematic. Grant was a big mad with a large build. Even if he hadn't been fat she would have had trouble turning him over by herself. Her own fault for sending Luciano away on a very late tea break.

She heard the click-swoosh of the door opening behind her and called out, "Luciano, come help me with Mr. Grant before I beat him to death again with a blunter object."

There was a small silence, and then the clicking of high heels on the floor. Laura couldn't pull on Mr. Grant and look over her shoulder at the same time, so she let him flop back down before turning to see her visitor. "I'm afraid civilians aren't allowed in the morgue."

The woman, dressed all in black including a pair of killer pumps Laura wished she could afford, quirked her lips in what could be called a smile, if one were feeling generous. She removed and opened a thin wallet from the inner pocket of her suit coat, offered it with an outstretched hand. 

_Special Agent Dana Scully, Department of Investigation: FBI_

Riiight. 

"I don't believe you have any jurisdiction here, Agent Scully," Laura ratcheted back her unreasonable annoyance at the lift of Agent Scully's perfectly manicured eyebrow. She handed back the wallet. "But clearly you're here for something, so what can I help you with?"

Scully went to the unit on the wall and took a pair of purple nitrile gloves from the box. Putting them on, she nodded at Mr. Grant. "I'll help you turn him. I'm also a Forensic pathologist" she added.

"Oh," Laura was a little taken aback, then felt a frisson of pleasure. "Okay, just up onto the shoulder."

With Scully holding Mr. Grant still on his side, Laura brought a magnifying glass to his skin. There was no indication of even mild bruising or scraping, so he wasn't dragged on the ground after being undressed. It looked like death by misadventure, despite the various theories clung to by his family. 

"We've been asked to help your investigation of the murders at Beaumont College."

"Really? That's excellent news," said Laura. She would not look this gift horse in the mouth, no. No, she wouldn't. "That's good. Let's put him down again"

"Chief Constable Barnard assured me you would be sent the paperwork," said Scully, folding Mr. Grant's arms across his chest.

"I'm sure it's on the way, maybe already even on my desk," Laura said. "I've got a few more things to do with Mr. Grant, here, but I'd be happy to go over the Beaumont bodies with you afterwards."

"I'd like to take a look at the bodies as soon as possible," Scully replied. "I don't have much time here."

It was unorthodox. The whole thing was unorthodox. And yet. "Alright. They're all in C, just down the hall. Neville and Fortey should be on the slabs already, I had been planning on examining them first thing this morning, but got sidetracked to Mr. Grant, here, as my Charlie is on holiday this week," Oh god, nothing worse than verbal diarrhea. Which apparently wasn't going to stop any time soon - "We're of a size the two of us, as is Claire Fortey. You'll probably find it easiest to start with her."

Scully's gorgeous blue eyes widened even as she bit her lips ever so slightly. "Ah, thank you. I have handled men like your...Mr. Grant, before."

"Of course, of course," Laura babbled inanely. God, what the hell was wrong with her this morning? "You must see a lot of bodies...?"

"Ye-es...which room?"

"They're in C, just down the hall. Changing room's across the way."

Scully nodded, put her gloves in the proper bin and left the room.

Laura stared after her, then shook her head at her own idiocy. She was a professional, for goodness sakes! She'd traveled the world, survived two disastrous marriages, she worked for the Government! Why she felt inadequate in front of a fellow pathologist...she couldn't even make heads nor tails of that. Might as well chalk it up to temporary insanity.

 

**~*~  
** ?, ?:?  
~*~ 

The hood was removed, leaving Hathaway blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light. The air was chill and damp and smelled of dank and must. Two tall and intensely bright lights of the kind used by SOCO at crime scenes illuminated the brick...vaults? The brick vaults leading off into the darkness. Hathaway could hear water dripping, echoing, the scritch of claw on brick, the squeal of rats and god only knew what else. Where the hell was he?

Where the hell were they, he amended a moment later as Lewis and Mulder were dragged in to lie next to him. Mulder managed to make getting to his knees look easy, while Lewis struggled to roll to one side, awkwardly kneeling and sitting up. 

The man who had removed Hathaway's hood whipped off theirs too, threw both to one side. He backed up to stand between the lights. He held a gun on them, a sleek black semiautomatic pistol that Hathaway hoped to be on the other end of at some point. Not that he could see a way there, but opportunity and all that.

"Now what," said Lewis. "Now that you've got us here, now what?"

The muscle's expression flattened. "Shut up."

"Y'can't bring us here and then expect us to take whatever you're going to give..."

The man took Lewis by the upper arm and jerked him halfway to his feet. "Shut it."

Lewis gasped and slumped to his knees. 

"Sir!" Hathaway willed his boss to sit up, but Lewis was lost in whatever had happened to him. The man looked at Hathaway and reached for Lewis again.

As he did, Alex Krycek, followed by another bit of muscle, walked into the light. "Collins, that's enough."

"Yes, yes it is," answered Scully, stepping out of the dark arches on the left with a gun in her hands, aiming at Krycek.

"This has nothing to do with me, Scully," said Krycek, holding out his hands in appeal.

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"He's right," said the muscle, a head shorn, bulky bloke in a dark suit. He didn't appear to be armed. "He's just an incidental player in this little drama. Grimes is the one in charge."

The whites around his eyes showing, Krycek huffed a humourless laugh, glancing between Scully and the muscle. "Fletcher doesn't quite have the whole picture."

Scully blinked, then said, "Talk to me."

Krycek jerked his head up in a nod. "Rademacher was trying to restart the Project."

Next to Hathaway, Mulder shook his head as one of the lights blinked off with a snap-hiss, then on again.

"What, you thought everything was going to stop just because Spender's dead?" said Krycek incredulously. "Because Diana's dead? You of all people should know better, Mulder."

In the ominous silence that followed, Hathaway strained to hear any evidence of where they were. All he could hear was Lewis' hitching breath and high whines. Not sounds he was used to hearing from his Governor.

"Why kill them?" asked Mulder. "Why not use them for experimentation?"

Krycek shrugged. "Opportunity. This is a small country and they're well known amongst their circles. They would be missed sooner rather than later."

"And the tetrodotoxin?"

"That was Fletcher's idea."

Fletcher nodded and grinned.

"The plan was to distribute the virus amongst the general population," said Krycek.

"But you'd kill half them," said Mulder.

Krycek smiled, clearly incredulous at Mulder's words. "Better dead than a slave, or worse, an incubator. Right, Scully?"

Did she waver slightly? Hathaway wasn't sure.

"Incubators?" asked Fletcher, glancing back and forth between Mulder and Krycek. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Alien contact," said Mulder. "Colonists planning on enslaving every man, woman, and child on this planet."

Hathaway stared at Mulder. What nonsense was this? 

Collins grinned. "Aliens? Yeah right, pull the other one!"

"A global conspiracy," Mulder continued quickly. "using us to further their own survival."

"To ensure our survival as a species, Mulder!" Krycek snapped. "Why can't you see that?"

"And where's your little rebellion gotten you?" 

"If you'd joined us, maybe a lot further! The virus won't kill everyone, just those without natural immunity, those who haven't been vaccinated, and those too weak to cope. Everyone who remains will be better, smarter, stronger. They'll pass those on to their children, it's an improvement you can't deny."

"It's their choice and you're taking that away from them."

Krycek shook his head. "Why do we keep having the same conversation?"

"It's hard to talk when people are trying to kill you," interjected Scully, holding her weapon steady.

Both lights snapped off, blinked on.

Hathaway idly wondered why Collins looked up - he looked, too, then noticed everyone except Scully doing the same. 

The lights began to strobe, so everything Hathaway saw came to him as if they were movie stills:

\- Krycek lunging away from Scully  
\- muzzleflash **BANG** sharp smell of powder _god_  
\- Collins wheeling away, arms akimbo  
\- Fletcher tackling Scully to the ground  
\- _FLASHFLASHFLASH_

and then the lights pulsed on and stayed on and his ears were ringing and Krycek was gone, Collins and Fletcher lay on the cold brick floor, the coppery stench of fresh blood and steam rising from the bodies and oh god Scully's _face_.

Keeping her gun in one hand and looking every way but at Mulder, Scully reached into her jacket pocket and produced a pen. She put one end in her mouth and untwisted the other, producing an actual tiny knife. It really was a pen-knife.

"Give it here," said Hathaway loudly, trying not to stare and failing miserably. "It'll be easier for me to hold."

She did as he requested. While Mulder backed between Hathaway's legs and rubbed his rope-bound wrists on the knife, Hathaway watched Scully. She barely blinked, approaching the lights and knocking them over with her shoe. She carefully knelt, gun held out all the time, and turned the lights towards the darkness.

Mulder was desperate, Hathaway could feel it by the strength of his pull against the knife. Judging by the length of time it took for Mulder to break free, the rope was just thick enough to keep them all from breaking free, and thin enough for him to cut through fairly quickly. 

Mulder sprang to his feet and approached Scully with a grimace. He reached out to touch her face but she jerked away.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she said, her voice tremulous. 

He clearly didn't believe her, and where Hathaway would have touched her shoulder, Mulder instead walked away, checking Fletcher and Collins' pockets. He retrieved another gun from Collins and two cell phones.

Scully tucked her gun into the back of her trousers. "Krycek's gone."

"Bastard," muttered Mulder, cutting Hathaway free before heading over to Lewis. "Robbie, I'm going cut you loose. Hathaway's going to hold your other arm and then I'm going to put this one back into position. Hathaway, give me your tie."

Wait, what? Hathaway looked at Lewis more closely, his arm was hanging funny. Dislocated shoulder. 

Lewis nodded. Hathaway hated seeing him like this, pale and sweaty and obviously in a great deal of pain. 

Mulder was fast, popping Lewis' shoulder in with a grunt. "Okay, that'll do for now," he had made a makeshift sling with their ties, a riot of purple, navy, and a godawful yellow and gray print Hathaway couldn't quite believe Mulder wore outside of his house.

"I found the way out," Scully called from beyond the arches.

"Come on," said Mulder. "Let's get the hell out of here."

 

**~*~  
** Sunday, 5:37 PM  
~*~ 

Hathaway put his guitar against the wall and opened the door. "Hullo."

"Hi," she said. "Do you have anything to drink?"

"I've got tea, coffee, beer," he answered, stepping back to let her inside. 

Without waiting for him to lead her in, she immediately went into the lounge, nodded at the glass on the coffee table. "I'll have whatever you're having."

Not what he was expecting. He did as requested, poured the drink; someone who could do what she had done the day before could handle good whisky. He filled a small creamer with cold water, brought both items to her. "What can I do for you, Agent Scully?"

Glancing up at him through her eyelashes, she took a sip, neat. He didn't fight the grin, dropping onto the sofa. 

She eyed him again - what was going through her mind? - sat down as well. "I wanted to find out how you were doing, after what happened."

Abruptly he could see the fine pinpricks of blood on her face, the result of shooting Fletcher in the head as he wrestled her to the ground. He said shortly, "I'm fine."

"It's a hard thing to see."

"Just because I was in seminary doesn't mean I haven't experienced a lot as a police officer."

"No, no," She shook her head, brows drawn down. "No, I didn't mean it like that. It's just...in our line of work, Agent Mulder and myself," she huffed a laugh. "We've seen things that most of other FBI agents haven't, that most Law Enforcement hasn't. Things we can't explain. We've almost died more times than I care to remember. Coming so close to death..."

Hathaway frowned. Was she trying to reassure him or herself?

"I wanted...I don't even know what I wanted. I'm sorry, I should go," She tossed back the whisky in one shot and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shifted as if to stand.

He caught her wrist. "No, don't. Stay," For what, he didn't know. But he recognized her loneliness, her want for comfort, her longing for something other than what she had, even though she might not know what the other was. As she stared at his hand, as if deciding whether or not to slap him, he quickly leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth. Drew back a little. Listened to her shallow breathing. Forward once more, only to be met by her soft lips as she turned into his kiss.

The demented trill of his ring tone broke the mood, Scully leaping off the couch as if she'd sat on a burning coal. "Hathaway."

"It's Mulder. Can I speak to Scully for a moment?" 

With a quirk of his lips - damn Mulder's timing - Hathaway silently held the phone out to her. It could have been a bomb considering the gingerly manner in which she took it.

"Yes, tomorrow," she said, stepping away from the couch, half-turning towards Hathaway, an apologetic look on her face. "Mulder, Kersh will have our asses if we're not back in time for either the grand jury or the trial...No. I don't think it's a good idea...Will you wait until I can come with you?"

Obviously a case of some sort. He wondered if he and Lewis sounded as married when overheard on the phone. Scully certainly could break out the whine when she wanted to. Not that the day hadn't given her reason.

"Okay...are you sure you don't need me?" 

Whatever his answer was, it made her smile a little.

"Anything, anything at all...but I won't be the one explaining it to OPR," She rolled her eyes, closed the phone. With only the slightest of hesitations she sat down next to him on the couch again. "He's interviewing someone at Seagate Prison, something to do with his Doctoral thesis."

Hathaway nodded once, as if he knew what she was on about besides the actual words she had spoken. He really wanted to kiss her again, but she seemed to have withdrawn.

She said, very softly, "Sergeant."

He blinked, realized he had been staring at her mouth for some time. He also noted the rapidity of her pulse in her neck, the shortness of her breath, the flush staining her cheeks, and he knew she was his for the taking. Leaning forward again, he murmured, "'Do I dare disturb the Universe?'"

"'In a minute there is time...'" she whispered back, meeting him halfway across the couch.

Hathaway found himself on top of her, one hand on her shoulder, the other braced on the coffee table. He was between her strong thighs, starting a hard grind even though both of them were still fully clothed. He leaned on one arm, brought the other to her knee and then up, sliding his hand underneath her skirt and on her smooth, smooth skin. She sighed a little and stopped moving.

"Okay?" he asked, easing up the hip action.

She blinked hard and bit her lip. "Yeah...it's good."

And if ever there were two people in more desperate need of uncomplicated human contact it was the two of them. After all, in this case they neither of them had to fear the repercussions of sleeping with a fellow coworker. 

They were both hot and flushed when Hathaway asked, "Right now are you Scully, or Dana?"

She licked her lips, moved one hand from under his shirt to push her hair out of her face. "Are you James or Hathaway?"

"Definitely James," he answered, rubbing his thumb on her shoulder.

"Then I'm definitely Dana," she said. "Now get off me."

He blinked down at her, for a moment too lust-addled to understand the words. Then it clicked and he swiftly sat up, let her scoot out from underneath him and off of the couch. 

Shit.

Had he overstepped? He didn't think so, but a sexual harassment suit wouldn't go over well, with Innocent least of all. He leaned back tried to readjust himself, not that there was room to do much; his jeans were beyond tight at this point.

With the slightest quirk on her lips (he thought she liked what she saw), she gave him a slow once over from head to foot. In one swift move she drew her shirt over her head and tossed it aside, let her skirt slip to the floor, leaving her clad in thin black pants soaked half way up, and a lacy black bra.

James was sure he hadn't seen anything as lovely in a long time. "Come here."

Scully - Dana - smirked and eased herself onto his lap. This was much better, he could pull her against him and the view, well, the view was excellent. Bra removal was easily done and her breasts, mm. They were perfect. One slightly larger than the other, nipples dark rose with a hint of brown, and stiff, too. She gave little moans when he rolled first one, then the other between his fingertips, soothed them afterwards with his tongue.

"Do you have a bed?" she asked breathily.

What kind of question was that? "Of course I have a bed. Let's go use it," The squeal and giggle she emitted when he stood up with her in his arms was gratifying, as was the way she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"You've always wanted to do that, haven't you?"

"I have. Good thing you're tiny."

And a good thing his bedroom was nearby. She giggled when he staggered over his previously discarded trainers, giggled when his knees hit the bed.

She let go, flopped onto his clean white duvet and poked his thigh with her toes. "Off."

"At your command," he said, practically ripping his pullover off. Jeans and pants followed and he was absurdly grateful he was barefoot. For once there was no awkward fumbling with shoes he'd forgotten to take off in the first place. Tempting though it was to ask her if she liked what she saw out loud, he managed to restrain himself from the cliche. Besides, if her hungry gaze at his crotch was any indication, she really did.

He was surprised to find himself on top, he wouldn't have guessed she was traditional when it came to sex. She was sweet, and very wet, and they fit well together. He wondered -

"No," she said.

He lipped her ear.

"I don't have sex very often."

"And Mulder?" he asked, trying hard to concentrate on what he was saying instead of what he was feeling.

"It's complicated."

"I've seen the way he looks at you," he said, earning him a smile and a gasp as he thrust hard. 

"And I've seen the way you look at your DI."

He didn't know what his expression was but it made her giggle. Again. "It's complicated," he mimicked. "Also, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mm." 

"Can we stop talking about our betters?" he muttered, desperately trying to distract himself from coming before she did. 

"Sure," she said, running her nails down his back and up his sides. "Any time you like."

Oh god - and he was gone. Breathing hard, he managed to roll off of her. He wiped the sweat off of face and laid still for a minute before turning on to his side. "Sorry...it's been some time."

She smiled back at him with a one shoulder shrug. "It happens."

"Not to me it doesn't," James fondled her breast, her belly, her hip. "I don't leave my partners unfulfilled."

"Oh," she sais, spreading her legs. "I'm so glad."

Later, after a bit of nap, chatting about work and this and that, he found himself saying, "I'm here with you, aren't I?" 

She turned her head, resting her cheek on her hands. She eyed him and he felt like she could see right through him. "That means nothing and you know it."

James rolled onto his back with a heavy sigh. "This isn't America. Things are different here."

"They don't have to be. People can change."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Dana."

"James, I think...I want you to remain open to the possibilities."

He looked at her. "What does that mean?"

She had opened her mouth to speak, but a thought occurred to her - one that had her mouth working to contain a grin, though she didn't laugh, and then said, "I want you to believe."

The ceiling contained no answers. He wanted to tell her that he understood, but the truth was that it really was complicated. His own feelings and motivations were a mystery to him, and he had no one to discuss it with save the object of his affections. Or Dr. Hobson. Laura, as she'd asked him to call her outside of the Station. Who clearly shared a fondness for their mutual object. He closed his eyes and drifted off.

"Dana!" James grasped her hair as he sat up, plucking her mouth off of his lap. She gave him a wickedly amused look but shuffled back on her knees anyway. "I'm not nineteen any longer," he said, reaching down and firmly squeezing the base of the erection she'd been working on.

She looked to her left, glanced back at him slyly. "I like your mirror."

It was big, almost floor to ceiling and nearly the width of the bed.

Dana moved back more, turned to face the mirror full on. With a tilted head, she ran both of her hands through her hair and then down the length of her torso, disappearing briefly between her legs. 

It was sensual and god, what he wouldn't give for a camera.

"James. Come here." 

He did as he was bid, settling on his heels behind her, leaning forward and putting his hands around her waist. The corners of her mouth quirked, but he saw nothing funny in her expression. No, in front of him was a woman determined to get every need satisfied. Needs he was more than happy to fulfill.

"Don't we look pretty?" she asked, drawing his arms more fully around her. A second later she shifted until, though still on her knees, her legs were outside of his. It looked awkward and amazing, easy access for him and they could both watch.

He had to agree, they did, admiring their pale bodies kneeling on his bright white sheets. He had not bought the mirror with sex in mind, but he was certainly beginning to appreciate the fact of its existence in his bedroom, now. "A happy accident."

Urging her up with one hand, he adjusted himself, then watched her slide down and engulf him. God, the heat of her! He rolled his hips, staring at their union in the mirror - they looked like something straight out of a porn flick.

It was incredibly hot.

Dana grabbed his hand and brought his fingers into her mouth. He sucked in a shaky breath, both mouths keeping him taught with excitement, waited to see what she would do.

Bringing his hand between her thighs, she whispered, "Get me off, but don't come. I want you to watch," Then she twined her arms above and behind his head, leaving herself open in all ways.

"Oh," she moaned, jerking her hips a little faster.

There was nothing better than the sound of a woman in full-throated cry, nothing. He wanted her to be even louder, let his neighbors know he had a guest of the female persuasion.

He tried to help, leaning back on his hands to gain a little leverage and save his back at the same time. Judging by her squeak of surprise and frustration, the wrong thing to do. His wrist and fingers were sore by the time she came, fluttering tightly around his cock and almost, almost bringing him along, too.

James hauled her up by her waist, thrusting into her so hard he was in danger of knocking them both off of the bed. At the last moment he managed to twist them sideways, falling on top of her, heedless of her frantic cries and unable to stop his own guttural grunts. Everything contracted to a single point and the sweetest death overtook him. 

Afterwards, he couldn't move apart from a few desultory jerks of his hips. He was still inside of her, lying against her slick skin, the both of them breathing hard. God, he was utterly spent, wrung out and trembling with exhaustion. Even his arse was cramping. He was going to move, he was, just as soon as he caught his breath. In just another minute.

Just one more.

One more minute.

One more...

...min...

 

**~*~  
** Monday, 5:49 AM  
~*~ 

Dana remained sound asleep when he left the bed. 

Hathaway tucked the sheet over her shoulder. What he really needed was more rest, and what he was going to do was shower and make a giant breakfast, because he was starving. The night had been long and delicious, more sex than he'd had in forever. He wasn't even sure how many times he had come, except it had been a lot, and he'd had a great deal of fun. 

His shower was hot and refreshing on his well used muscles. Not bothering with anything other than a towel, when he was done he went into the kitchen and perused what was in the fridge while the coffee maker did its thing. Hmm, there was just enough orange juice for the two of them, but he'd have to get more for the next time Lewis came over. Eggs, cheese, a bit of bacon, bit of black pudding. Toast, raspberry jam. Dana didn't strike him as a beans kind of girl, so he put the container back on the second shelf. What else...no, there was enough. A little fresh parsley on the side, yeah, that was it. Milk and cream for the coffee, for sweetener, maple syrup Miranda had sent to him from Vermont.

He was just gathering plates, forks, and knives, when Dana appeared. She was completely dressed. He said, "Good morning."

She smiled at him, but it was no longer the brilliant, carefree grin of the night before. Well, he could understand that. Back to the real world. Back to Mulder, whom he now considered an idiot of the highest degree. "Breakfast is on its way."

"Oh," she said, her forehead creasing in a frown. "I was going to go back to the hotel and wash."

He understood that, too. Mulder would notice if the smell of her soap and shampoo were different from normal.

"Okay. There's just one thing...I wanted to taste you," In amazement he watched a fine blush steal over her cheeks. All they had done last night and now she was embarrassed? He could tell she wanted it, but was too shy to presume. 

Unbelievable.

He slowly knelt, looking into her eyes all the while. When she didn't move, he glanced down and ran his fingertips up her legs from her killer black heels to the back of her lovely knees and further up, to the delighted discovery that there were no pants to remove.

Sly, sexy Scully.

He took a deep breath of their mingled fragrance and bent to his sweet task and oh, she liked it.

 

**~*~  
** Monday, 9:01 AM  
~*~ 

Lewis stood in front of the window, looking out into the bullpen. He leaned his head from side to side, trying to ease the strain from the sling holding his arm immobile.

"Our meeting with John Lavigne's been rescheduled for ten fifteen this morning," said Hathaway.

"Hmm? Oh, Lavigne, right," murmured Lewis, glancing at Hathaway. He did a double take as Hathaway leaned away to dig through the bottom drawer of his desk. Was that - were there - ? Lewis peered more closely, then straightened so quickly he had to let out a groan as he moved the wrong way.

"Alright?"

Lewis nodded, steadfastedly not looking at his Sergeant. The four streaks on the back of Hathaway's neck were definitely scratches. Made by fingernails. Well, good on the lad. Past time he had a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Whatever, none of his business as long as Hathaway was happy. "Here they come," he said, watching Mulder and Scully stride down the hall in their G-man suits and black overcoats.

Hands were shaken, pleasantries exchanged. Lewis could admit to himself he was eager to see the back of them. Not that they weren't nice people, they were. The type of danger they brought...no. He wanted Hathaway here, next to himself or some other copper, not with the likes of them. Scully stood on her toes to whisper something in Hathaway's ear, something that made his cheeks burn as he glanced at Lewis with wide eyes.

The day was brought to rights when Hathaway brought two cups of freshly brewed tea and a small plate of biscuits to Lewis' desk. He dragged his chair over and they feasted. 

Content with their small repast, Lewis leaned back in his chair. "Was that enough of an adventure for you?"

"Yes, thank you," replied Hathaway. "Glad to be back with your ordinary, garden variety murderer."

Lewis chuckled. "What did she say to you? You were blushing like a bride."

"Oh," Hathaway shook his head with a rueful smile. "Nothing in particular. Although she did say I was to look after you, or she'd be back to 'kick my ass'".

"I'm beginning to like her more and more," said Lewis, sitting up straight. "Come on, let's go talk to John Lavigne."

 

**~*~  
** fin  
~*~ 

**Author's Note:**

> So...this story. They say the art of writing is putting one word after the other. The true art of writing is actually perseverance, of which mine was severely tested. Much of this piece was written...well. Some scenes were written last year, and while the idea wa good, many of the connect-y bits simply did not show up. I forced them, which is why this is rather choppy. 
> 
> Sorry.
> 
> I have to admit that I became really tired of it, and kind of ran out of steam at the end, including doing something I've never actually done before: I left out part of a scene. *hangs head in shame*
> 
> I also can't seem to fix the *(^## HTML, another apology, etc, etc.
> 
> Some characters and allusions to the events of [Sloane Rangers & Lager Lovelies](http://archiveofourown.org/works/533435). Don't worry if you missed them, they're not super important.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the good parts, and ignore the bad. Next one will be better, I swear!
> 
> The Archibald Simpson - a real pub in Aberdeen, named after the architect who built many of the public structures in the city. And the lighting is actually too bright there.
> 
> "May you live in interesting times" - a famous Chinese curse.
> 
> Lots of Shakespeare quotes, from Othello and...some others...
> 
> (Bright Objects Hypnotize the Mind) - 'A Word With You' by Elizabeth Bishop.
> 
> "Do I dare disturb the Universe?" - TS Eliot. 'The Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock'
> 
> "In a minute there is time..." - TS Eliot. 'The Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock'


End file.
